30 Days of No Cases
by BBCruinslives18
Summary: A month full of just Joanlock? Check. 30 days, 30 kisses. How Sherlock and Joan start their relationship with just one simple kiss. Hopefully I can post daily, but I might not be able to.
1. Kiss One

**A/N: So... This will be thirty chapters long. It'll be daily, pretty much meaning a kiss a day for a month. Oh, and, if I don't publish a chapter when I'm supposed to, that usually means I have writer's block or school work is drowning me.**

**Also, before I forget, thanks to my awesome beta ImagineThis22!**

* * *

Kiss One: (Time: 5:30 pm)

The first kiss was an accident.

Sherlock was lying on the living room floor, an elbow propped underneath him. Joan was sitting, her legs stretched out between Sherlock and two unfortunate piles of locks. It was her new lesson of the week: lock-picking. Sherlock would reach over her, grab a lock from the pile next to Joan's waist and pick it in record time. He would then proceed to lock it again and give it to her. She then had to unlock it again before putting it on the gradually growing pile at her feet.

It was a circular pattern, like how their lives had become after not having a case in two whole weeks.

o0o

First, Sherlock would wake at an ungodly hour and proceed to shake Joan awake. That turned into blanket tugging and blind opening, which resulted in a _very_ grumpy Joan flopping out of bed, muttering about the sun not rising yet. He would allow her to go on her daily run and make tea before telling her about the newest activity they would be engaged in. She would be forced to agree, and spend the rest of the day learning the most random- yet intriguing- facts Joan had ever heard. They would all somehow connect to her subject of the week. Joan would then fall onto her bed well past midnight and savor her minimal hours of sleep before the cycle started all over again.

o0o

Sherlock had reached for a new lock at the same time Joan had reached below her to put one away. Their arms crossed and the electricity went out. Joan had slightly jumped from her childish fear of the dark and grabbed at Sherlock's arm from behind. This resulted in Sherlock losing his balance and falling on top of her. His chest pushed both Sherlock and Joan to the floor, their bodies pressed together. He caught himself before any other part of him fell, but she wasn't so lucky. Joan's head had landed with a thud onto the ground, surely resulting in a slowly forming headache and a bruise.

The lights flickered on, showing Sherlock and Joan how close they had been to having their lips accidentally meet in the dark. Their noses were practically touching, and they couldn't will themselves to look away from each other. Sherlock used his arms to steady himself as he moved towards Joan. Her eyes slowly shut, and waited for the moment his lips met hers.

In a tingling sensation of something one can only describe as _sparks_, Sherlock Holmes had kissed Joan Watson.

And okay, maybe it wasn't an accident.


	2. Kiss Two

**A/N: Oh my gosh! FIVE favorites and DOUBLE that in follows?! IN ONE DAY?! You guys are amazing! Here's the second chapter!**

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Kiss Two: (Joan's POV) (Time: 11 pm)

I had never been more drunk in my life. All I could think about was the kiss. That stupid, insane, _wonderful_-

Okay. Time for another drink.

Well, really, it wasn't my fault the kiss had occurred. Sherlock _was_ the one to actually put his lips on mine. His strangely soft lips, piercing hazel eyes, and that amazing scent of honey and mint mixed with just pure, plain_ Sher_-

I need to stop doing this.

I shook my head violently as I took another shot. _'I have to stop thinking about this',_ I scolded myself. _'It was nothing. Nothing.'_

That seven letter word replayed in my mind as I hailed a taxi back to the Brownstone. _'Nothing,'_ I repeated, _'it meant absolutely _nothing_'_.

I fumbled with my keys before I actually got the right one in. I braced myself for the confrontation that was sure to happen as I closed the door.

o0o (POV change)

"J-" Sherlock paused. He visibly shook his head as he corrected himself. "Watson," he said, less enthusiastically. His confusion was evident on his face when she hadn't rounded the corner to the living room.

_'Again?'_ he thought as he stood up from his chair and walked towards the door. Sherlock's eyes widened when he saw Joan slumped against the doorframe, her jacket pulled down to her waist. He rushed over, and lightly shook her. Joan leaned forward and landed into Sherlock, her head coming to rest on his shoulder.

Only then did he realize that she was asleep, and that reeked of alcohol. He exhaled a breath he didn't even know he was holding.

Sherlock carried Joan to her bed and gently laid her down. Just as he pulled her covers over her body, she turned towards him and mumbled, "Sherlock..."

Before he could even think of what to reply, Joan turned multiple times and was on the edge of her bed, far away from Sherlock, yet still facing him.

She unconsciously reached for his outstretched hand, and whispered three words that made Sherlock decide to lie down in bed with her.

o0o

He snuggled close and stretched up to give a small kiss to Joan's forehead. As Sherlock's head became level with Joan's again, he was just centimeters away from her. He slowly inched forward, and his eyes fluttered shut. When his brain caught up with his actions, Sherlock quickly jerked away.

Sherlock turned, and began to get out of Joan's bed, but suddenly he was enveloped by her arms holding him back. Sherlock tried to break free, but her grip was exceptionally tight. He just had to face the facts.

Sherlock Holmes and Joan Watson were _spooning_.

* * *

**A/N: I made their second kiss go on the forehead. That still counts, right?**

**Just so you don't get confused on something I think is really sweet in the story: When Sherlock said "Again?" when he called out Joan's name, it meant that he did that. He thought she had come home a time beforehand, and called out to her then. Of course, she was still drinking her sorrows away, but he didn't know that. So, he had repeatedly mistaken (*definitely* more than once) that Joan had come home, hence the 'Again'. **

**Also, I want to try a little contest. If any of my wonderful followers can guess what Joan had muttered, then you win a virtual cookie! ... Not enough, huh? Well... how about you also get a chapter dedicated to you, AND (if you want) you can help me write one of my chapters. Pretty much saying, I'll use your idea of how they kiss, and shove it somewhere in my story. And I'll credit you.**


	3. Kiss Three

Kiss Three: (Time: 9 am)

Joan's eyes slowly opened. She turned her head towards the right, but immediately turned back when she saw the sunlight streaming through the window.

Her head _hurt_. Not a normal pounding from an unusually heated argument, or even one from celebrating a little_ too_ hard after a promotion. It was the 'let's try and forget this possibly life changing event by drowning it in really strong alcohol' hangover.

So when Joan saw Sherlock's face inches from her own, it was safe to say she thought the worst. All Joan could notice was that her left hand was behind his neck, her right entwined with Sherlock's right. His left hand wove around her waist, and had probably caused the close proximity of them. Her left leg was tangled with Sherlock's left, and his right leg was draped over Joan's body.

It was an understatement to say she freaked out.

Joan's eyes rapidly widened, and she started to panic. She didn't even consider the possibility of Sherlock already being awake. All she wanted was a _very_ clear explanation of what happened…and space. So, what did Joan do to get her much-needed space?

She shoved him. Hard. Hard enough to push Sherlock off the edge of Joan's bed, an extremely loud thump echoing in the silent room.

Joan immediately rushed over the side Sherlock fell off to check on him, ignoring her pounding head yelling at her to forget him and sleep. He _definitely_ woke up after that. As though to prove that point, Sherlock's head quickly popped up above the mattress. But, Joan had just stuck out her head to check for bruising or worse, and their lips met in a feather light kiss. They stayed like that for seconds too long, and Sherlock was the one to jerk away first.

There was an awkward pause before Sherlock blurted, "You know, you are remarkably stronger than the average woman."

Joan gave a loud, unneeded groan as she flopped back into her bed and covered her face with a pillow. She was going to deal with _that _problem, but first, Joan was going to have a nice, long, _uninterrupted_ nap.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry these are so short. And about the hangover. I've never had one, so I can't really portray one well. Also, I guess I should say the contest is over! Someone guessed the ****three worded phrase that will _certainly _show up again in the story. It's... "I need you." Congrats to SapphyreLight who guessed it!**


	4. Kiss Four

**I know I forgot to do this in the earlier chapters, but hopefully I'll remember to do this from now on!**

**Special thanks to: ImagineThis22, who is my awesomely awesome beta! **

**And I guess I have to put a disclaimer saying I don't own Elementary (though it would be cool if I did...)**

* * *

Kiss Four: (Time: 8 am)

Joan woke up. Again.

This time the bed was completely empty, showing no signs of Sherlock ever being there.

Joan started to question if she had imagined the entire thing. Her mattress was too cold to assume someone had slept with her. The curtains on her window were closed, despite the sunlight Joan had seen when she woke up the first time.

_. . . But._

Joan had practically slept an entire day after her encounter with Sherlock. It would have made sense that her bed had a cold side. He would've left after she unceremoniously pushed him off her bed. And the curtains; Sherlock was sure to have noticed how Joan winced when facing it. If he had any sympathy, he would've shut the curtains…. which he did.

But the one thing that made Joan terribly sure of Sherlock sleeping with her was the smell. It smelled of, well,_ Sherlock_.

Joan rolled over and took a deep breath into the pillow.

Just as she suspected.

Mint and raw honey. And... coffee?Ff Her head snapped up and Joan realized there was coffee brewing downstairs.

o0o

Joan walked down the stairs, dressed and ready for whatever craziness Sherlock would bring, her hangover long-gone.

"Morning, Sherlock," Joan said, brushing past him to grab a mug on a top shelf. He visibly froze, eyes flicking from her to his half eaten cereal. Luckily, she didn't notice. Joan was preoccupied in having a hard time grabbing her mug.

Sherlock swiftly walked over to where Joan was stretching up and placed a hand on the counter close enough to feel her body heat. His torso pressed against her back, and Sherlock's fingers brushed Joan's as he took the mug from the shelf. The brief touch was all it took to trigger a memory from when Joan was extremely hung-over.

_Joan's eyes slowly opened. Sherlock's face was inches from her own, and, thinking the worst, shoved him off the bed. Joan was sober enough to think of checking on him, so she went to survey on the damage. But, Sherlock had also wanted to announce his well-being and somehow their lips had touched._

Joan took a step back.

Sherlock had to stumble backwards or else he'd be stepped on.

She immediately turned to face him.

"Watson? Are you still hungover?" Sherlock asked hesitantly.

"Sherlock," she spoke slowly, "what happened yesterday?"

"Oh! Um..." Sherlock avoided her piercing gaze. "N-nothing really," he stuttered slightly and tried to cover it with a terribly fake cough.

Joan closed her eyes and could feel anger slowly building up. _'One more chance...'_, she thought, before looking at Sherlock again.

"What. Happened. _Yesterday_," She gritted out.

He visibly gulped, and started, "Well..."

Sherlock was cut off by a scoffing noise coming from the back of Joan's throat.

"Don't you dare make any excuses. I remember exactly what happened yesterday. Why would you just lie to me like that? Nothing happened?! I mean, _c'mon_, really? I can't even ask you one simple damn question before you have to go and decide what I should and shouldn't know. So our lips touched. It's not like it was on pur-" Joan's rant was stopped by Sherlock's lips on her own.

He grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her toward him, and tilted his head down to crush his mouth onto Joan's to quiet her. Before she could even respond, Sherlock let go and showed her the most confused look she had ever seen on his face. Joan had never seen Sherlock's face portray so much emotion and it frightened her.

He quickly turned, grabbed his jacket, and practically ran out the door. Joan couldn't even get a word in; he just left.

She finally remembered a vital part of her flashback. Sherlock moved his head _after _Joan looked out over her bed. Not at the same time. It had been deliberate.

_'Oh my god,'_ thought Joan, _'Sherlock likes me._

* * *

**OH MY GOSH YOU GYS ARE AMAZING. I literally woke up to TEN emails from fanfiction about follows,favorites, or reviews! You guys are AWESOME. 25 follows?! 17 reviews?! I feel so happy!**


	5. Kiss Five

Kiss Five: (Time: 4 am)

Sherlock had left the brownstone twenty hours ago. _Twenty_ hours.

Joan had contacted Gregson, Bell, Alfredo, and even Ms. Hudson, who were in the Brownstone trying unsuccessfully to calm her down. All were unsure of where Sherlock might have gone, which frightened Joan even more. She knew he could find his way in New York blindfolded, but Joan couldn't help but feel like Sherlock had gotten in some terrible danger. He wasn't the best person to be left alone; Moriarty may be locked away, but her associates sure weren't.

She inwardly groaned. Why couldn't Sherlock at _least_ text?! Even one of his stupid acronyms would be so immensely relieving at the moment.

Apparently, Joan's groan wasn't as inward as she thought because Gregson and Ms. Hudson shared a knowing look. Ms. Hudson approached Joan slowly and pulled her onto the couch.

"Joan, sweetie, why don't you get some sleep? You've been awake for quite some time and you know for sure if we hear from Sherlock we will definitely tell you first." Ms. Hudson's reasoning was completely sound, but Joan couldn't help the gnawing feeling that this was all her fault. If only she had _told_ him that-

At that moment, the door clicked open and Sherlock-freaking-Holmes appeared on the other side. The tension was choking, and no one even moved, not even Sherlock. The only movement was from Joan, who had immediately stood up when the door unlocked.

Everyone could tell Sherlock was quickly figuring out what had happened for the past twenty hours because he didn't enter the room… or maybe he was hoping Joan wasn't there to kill him when he came home.

He sighed. Joan would obviously still be awake.

Sherlock walked through the door and flinched from the tension. He shut the door with an echoing click.

"Well," Sherlock started, "I know all of you are wondering my whereabouts, and-"

Sherlock was cut off by Joan. She had walked over to him in about five steps, and she was _furious_. Joan gripped the collar of Sherlock's coat, pulled, and did something that surprised everyone- even Sherlock. She pulled him towards her and kissed him. The kiss lasted until the other four were extremely uncomfortable, but Sherlock and Joan didn't notice.

Once they had stopped, Joan slapped Sherlock.

* * *

**A/N: Okay. After this chapter, the chapters might be a little late! Sorry! School work is killing me!**


	6. Kiss Six

**Thanks to my beta ImagineThis22, who's like totally amazing and such. And those pesky disclaimers about how I don't own any of this.**

Kiss Six: (Time: 5 am)

"Should I leave?" whispered Gregson. He had stayed over at the brownstone, along with Ms. Hudson.

Ms. Hudson merely shrugged as she gathered her coat and proceeded to walk out the back entrance. Gregson's eyes flitted over to the new couple before following Ms. Hudson out the door.

Sherlock and Joan sat on the left corner of the couch, cuddled together. Joan was wrapped up in his arms, her head resting on the right shoulder.

o0o

Yesterday had been a very eventful day. After Sherlock had been slapped, Joan broke down into tears. She admitted how fucking _scared _she was for Sherlock, thinking Moriarty's –or any criminal Sherlock had locked up really- partners had suddenly kidnapped him, had him taken away. Her mind had raced with hopes- _wishes_- that she could somehow _feel _his thoughts and just _know _that it was so _totally wrong_ to not be home earlier than _twenty damn hours_. Joan explained how that spurred her to call Gregson and Bell, and a few hours later Ms. Hudson and Alfredo. They had all tried to calm her down, but nothing worked because all she was able to concentrate on was her phone, hoping to receive _anything_ to signal Sherlock's well-being. Joan told him about how she couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't even _sit down_ without thinking this was _all_ her _damn_ fault because-

That was where Sherlock spoke up.

He confessed that what he did was stupidly childish. Sherlock even made a joke out of it, saying he was becoming human, which was rewarded with a choked laugh from Joan

Sherlock slowly laced his fingers with hers, and murmured about how he had tried to deduce Joan's feelings for him- something he vowed to never _ever _do again- but thought from her lack of response and the heart clenching look of shock written on Joan's face that she had not liked him back.

Sherlock had left because he couldn't bear the thought of the rejection from Joan

o0o

That had been yesterday. Today, because of the odd hours he had slept during the past few days, Sherlock was wide awake. Joan, unlike Sherlock, was finally feeling those twenty hours slowly building up on her and making her unable to stay awake.

They sat, him wrapped around her, on the couch.

Sherlock would whisper attributes about Joan he was fond of- like the way her nose crinkled slightly whenever she smiled, or that wonderful smirk that was always there when she rolled her eyes- to an extremely tired Joan.

She fell asleep to Sherlock's lips pressing against her cheek, nose, and then forehead.

It was the best sleep she had had in days.

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**Yay! Chapter six! This is for SapphyreLight who won my mini contest and suggested I use a more tender kiss! **


	7. Kiss Seven

Kiss Seven (Time: Next day; 2 pm):

The honeymoon phase of a relationship: when everything is all cuddles, kisses, hugs, and moony stares; usually at the beginning of the relationship, when everything is very new and you are just getting used to having another person around.

This was _not_ the honeymoon phase.

o0o

Joan walked down the stairs to the screeching of a violin. It would randomly pause, giving her the small hope it would stop_ forever_, but Sherlock would never give her the satisfaction.

Her feet hit the wood of the first floor, and the violin abruptly stopped.

'_Okay_,' Joan thought, '_maybe Sherlock isn't that cruel._'

She rounded the corner and saw him sitting on top of the kitchen table, feet propped up on a chair. She stood next to him in just seven steps and surveyed the scene. The violin was nowhere to be found.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked, as if he wasn't practically _murdering_ a violin mere seconds ago. A sheet of music fluttered down from the tabletop, and Joan stooped to pick it up. His eyes widened, and almost tackled her away from the paper.

She yelped, and landed on the tile floor with Sherlock on top of her, his arms supporting him from lying on her. This was vaguely familiar.

-but that wasn't important.

Joan and Sherlock were in a compromising position, and _now_, of all times, she remembered. They were in a _relationship_. It was perfectly okay to randomly kiss him. So she did.

Joan grabbed the collar of his button down- the one he always buttons up too much- and pulled him down towards her.

The kiss didn't last very long, and when they broke away Sherlock was dazed. Joan quickly pushed him off to the side and reached for the paper.

On the sheet of music were hand-written music notes. There were many scribbles and an entire measure crossed out, probably from frustration. Joan noted that this wasn't the first sheet, as there was no title.

The sheet was promptly snatched out of her hands.

"What are you writing music for?" Joan wondered aloud, eyeing Sherlock slip the music sheet into a black binder and shove towards the far corner of a bookshelf.

"Well," Sherlock replied, back still turned, "it's obviously about-" He glanced at Joan and paused for only a brief second, but she had still noticed.

"Bees!" Sherlock blurted, "It's music for my bees."

* * *

**Wow. I literally published this right after my beta (ImagineThis22) sent it to me! I'm really getting behind an this story (I wrote this during random times at school, finished at home, and quickly sent it to my beta) and it's totally killing me because I don't want to be. I know I will skip at least one day because of school, and I'm going to feel so bad about it...**


	8. Kiss Eight

Kiss Eight (Time: 7 pm)

Sherlock was an idiot.

Sitting in _their own_ kitchen and eating _takeout_ was by no means a _date_.

That was pointed out by Joan when he _oh so casually_ stated that they were on their first official date during dinner last night.

That resulted in Sherlock declaring a time, date, and attire.

"Tomorrow. Seven p.m. sharp. Dress...formal."

Joan had rolled her eyes and walked off, trying to tamp down the butterflies forming in her stomach.

o0o

It was seven p.m. And Sherlock wasn't even home.

She shouldn't have been so disappointed. He just probably wasn't keeping track of time, and was hurriedly trying to get back... but Joan knew Sherlock enough to know that he wouldn't be showing up anytime soon.

She sighed. Joan had dressed up for nothing. She should have expected this. She glanced down. Joan had on a dark blue dress. It came halfway to her thighs and was one-shouldered. The sleeve went all the way down her arm and was dark blue lace. The body of the dress zigzagged across, having a wrapped look to it. She had brought it especially for today, and now it was wasted.

Joan had reached the bottom of the stairs when her phone dinged from inside her purse.

It was a text from Sherlock.

_-New text message from: Sherlock-_

**AT.**

_AT._ Joan had gotten that text before and was able to easily decipher it.

_Almost there._

_-2 hours later-_

Joan couldn't help it.

She had promised herself that she would _only _wait for thirty minutes. That was an hour and a half ago.

Joan _finally_ decided to get up from her seat in the kitchen when the door was opened. She stayed completely still.

Sherlock emerged from the other side of the door, carrying a box.

He swiftly walked towards Joan and plopped down onto the chair opposite of her. The box was put on the kitchen table. No one spoke for several moments.

Joan's strained voice broke the tension.

"_Almost_ there?" She gave a short, humorless laugh, hands slowly balling into fists.

Sherlock must have sensed her anger for he grabbed one of her arms and unfurled her hand. His palm trailed from halfway up her forearm down to the tips of Joan's fingers, small shivers running throughout her body.

"I am sorry, Watson. I didn't know making this would take that long..." he trailed off, glancing at the unopened box perfectly wrapped with a thin orange ribbon.

"You look absolutely stunning. The dark blue compliments your pale complexion perfectly." Sherlock announced, lacing their hands together. Joan felt the blood involuntarily rush to her face and her lips tilting upwards.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," Joan said, head held high, even though their hands were still entwined. Her cheeks were still flushed, and Sherlock still giving her that irresistible smirk.

"What's in the box?" she questioned, hoping to quickly change the subject.

He smirked even wider and pulled off the ribbon. Sherlock opened the box, and the strong smell of fresh strawberries filled up the room.

Joan glanced into the box, and inside was the most perfect looking cheesecake she had ever seen in her entire life. It was perfectly round, smothered with those fresh berries and had chocolate drizzled throughout. Her eyes widened and her gaze shifted to Sherlock as she remembered that he said he made it.

"You... For me?" Joan sputtered, unable to comprehend something so nice coming from a person who had once called her his valet.

Sherlock gave a sheepish grin for mere moments before forcing his face to be expressionless and nodding.

There was suddenly a fork resting near her arm. Another had already made a dent into the cheesecake, slowly being guided towards Sherlock's mouth.

He paused.

His eyes flickered from the fork to her, then down to the fork next to Joan.

"Did I misjudge your thoughts on cheesecake?" Sherlock inquired.

"No. I actually love cheesecake." The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "I'm still pissed at you."

He frowned. The fork was quickly put into Sherlock's mouth then pulled out. "I understand that-"

"No, you don't," Joan cut off, "I spent _two damn hours_ waiting for you to come home. I got all dressed up, thinking you would take me to someplace fancy where we would be so out of place. The night would be full of you deducing everyone in the restaurant and me trying to figure out how, and everything would have turned into a lesson, but I would've been _fine_ with that because that's _just you and I_, Sherlock. We would probably get kicked out of that place and instead of taking a taxi, we would walk home under the cool night sky and... it would've been _perfect_." She stopped and exhaled. "But you weren't home."

Sherlock took a deep breath and straightened his posture. "Joan, I _was g_oing to do all of that."

She looked at him, surprised.

_'Did he just call me by my first name?!_

But she couldn't dwell on that now; he was still speaking.

"-planned out! This suit was just for today and I even reserved us an exclusive table at _Per Se, _but it all backfired because some moronic human thought it was perfectly okay to try and take the table. And _of course_ it was a 'famous actor' who claimed to want 'time alone in the city' when it was stupidly obvious that he was just kicked out from cheating on his actress wife. Everything was _not _going as planned. I ended up consulting Ms. Hudson for dinner preferences. Thirty minutes were taken up by her scolding me about how you would react –even when I had reminded her _repeatedly that I. Was. Late_. An hour was used making this, and then the cabbie that took me here should have gotten a ticket for driving _so bloody slowly_."

All the emotion seemed to come out of Sherlock. He put his head in his hands. "I didn't expect this to happen. Today was supposed to be extraordinary, but instead I messed it up. I truly am... sorry."

Joan couldn't help it. If she didn't forgive him because of this, then she didn't know Sherlock at all. He never apologized, let alone the fact that he tried to _make her food._

She reached around the cake –which, by the way, was _melting_- and grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her.

They engaged in a mute conversation, both of them using their deductive skills to understand the other. After several minutes, Sherlock and Joan came to a resolution.

It wasn't Sherlock's fault. Joan forgave him. And cheesecake was the best "I'm sorry" cake she had ever gotten.

She smiled, and eagerly dove her fork into the cheesecake while Sherlock watched, slightly amused.

It was heaven. Light, creamy cheesecake with the sweet and sour tang of strawberries. The chocolate drizzle was just barely there, but added to the flavor and made Joan crave for more.

An embarrassing drip of chocolate trailed down her mouth to her chin.

"Sherlock!" Joan called, "Napkin."

He stood up from his chair, pushing it back. Sherlock reached over the table and grabbed her face in his hands. In one swift motion, he _licked _off the chocolate, his tongue going from her chin to her lips. Sherlock then gave her a quick kiss and retreated back to his chair.

Joan stared, wide eyed, as Sherlock stuffed a piece of cheesecake into his mouth, trying to conceal his smile.

* * *

**A/N: Woo! Barely made it with about thirty minutes to spare. Yesterday wasn't the best of days for me. This person that I shouldn't even consider a friend tried to tell me that Elementary sucked and that I only liked it because Joan is a girl. So, naturally, I got pissed and that started this whole argument that made me just want to curl into fetal position and die. Yeah. It was that bad. **

**ANYWAYS. Thanks to my beta, ImagineThis22 who had to beta this so late!**


	9. Kiss Nine

Kiss Nine: (Time: 3 pm)

It was raining, and the _genius_ had thought they didn't have to bring an umbrella despite the dark clouds that had appeared when they had stepped out.

o0o

That same genius thought it was a _perfect _time to go out today and _take a walk_.

"See the clouds, Watson?" he had said. "They're cumulus clouds. No rain anytime soon."

Joan had trusted his judgment and went outside in jeans and a shirt, but still wore her rain boots as a precaution. Sherlock had made a disapproving noise, grabbed his coat (does he ever go outside without it?), and practically dragged Joan towards the sidewalk.

Once outside, he started to quickly walk, hands stuffed deep into the coat pockets. She had to slightly jog to catch up.

When Joan was able to walk at the same pace, she asked, "Do you even know where you're going?" Sherlock opened his mouth. "Wait! No, don't answer that. Of course you know."

He chuckled lightly and glanced down at her hand. Sherlock started to reach for it. Just as his fingertips brushed her palm, Joan's head snapped towards the contact and he hastily retracted his hand, stuffing it into one of his jean pockets. Sherlock pulled out his phone, and secretly checked the weather. Eighty-five percent chance of thunderstorm? Perfect.

o0o

Thunder boomed above Joan's head and as she glanced up, a streak of lightning shot across the sky.

She tried looking for something to tell her where she was. No familiar landmark was spotted.

Joan turned and expected to see Sherlock, but instead was met with an empty space. She looked back and saw him sitting on a bench they had passed a few steps ago. Joan sighed and walked towards him.

"What was the point of this, Sherlock? There's nothing here," she asked, noting _again_ that those 'cumulus' clouds were rapidly approaching.

"Patience, Watson. I will tell you soon enough, but right now, I suggest we head back to the brownstone, hmm?" Sherlock stood up from his seat and started to walk the way they had come.

Then it started raining. It wasn't even a slight drizzle, either. No, this was full-on soaked-to-the-bone type of rain.

'_At least I was smart enough to bring these boots,_' Joan thought as she was slowly getting drenched. A sharp, cold wind blew through and felt like a cut across her entire body.

She looked over to Sherlock and thought enviously, _'I should've brought my jacket.'_

A brief look at Joan was all it took for him to know that his plan was going perfectly. Sherlock smirked.

He pulled off his jacket and draped it over an unsuspecting Joan. She almost flinched from the contact and quickly gazed at Sherlock when she realized what she was now wearing.

He was walking right beside her, hands innocently clasped behind his back.

Before Joan could even think of any type of thank you, Sherlock stated the brownstone was approximately thirty paces ahead.

Soon, they arrived at the front door of their home. He looked at her expectantly.

She furrowed her eyebrows, confused on what he was trying to imply. Sherlock rolled his eyes and swiftly jerked the collar of his own jacket –which Joan was still wearing- towards himself. Their noses were touching as he pulled the keys out of the jacket pocket in an excruciatingly slow way.

It took almost all of Joan's willpower to _not _make out with Sherlock right then and there.

They went inside and Sherlock helped Joan out of his coat. She began to move towards the stairs when a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

She was spun around, and was again face to face with him.

_That_ was when Joan decided to kiss Sherlock.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, know you guys probably all hate me. And I am totally fine with that. I just wanted you to know that I will probably start doing these chapters every other day. School is literally one of the main reasons why, but I also have my own personal problems that conflict with this schedule. And another big reason: I have writers' block. It took me FOREVER to write this chapter, and my inspiration was the rain pouring outside. So, if ANY of you people have suggestions that you would like to be added into the story (these are pretty much like oneshots every single day for a month, but some connect) then PLEASE PM me your ideas! I would love to see all of them and it would save me so much trouble!**


	10. Kiss Ten

Kiss Ten: (Time: 4 pm)

Sherlock noticed another person in the brownstone as soon as he approached the door.

He slowly unlocked it and pushed it open, laughter flooding out of the residence as the door was swung open.

It was Joan and... a _man's_ laughter.

Sherlock slammed the door shut. He walked in, the living room becoming silent upon his entrance.

Joan sat on the couch, and next to her was a...colleague? No, too close for that. At least a friend. Probably more.

Sherlock felt a weird twist in his stomach as that thought played in his mind. _Something... more? Was I not adequate enough for her to be in search of another man? But last night..._ He smiled at the memory of waking up next to Joan, her listening to his heartbeat as Sherlock absentmindedly stroked her hair.

Joan glanced at Sherlock with a grin.

"Sherlock! This is-"

"Mark Morstan," he cut in. Mark stuck out his hand, waiting for it to be shaken by Sherlock. It wasn't.

Mark coolly brought his hand back and combed it through his hair- _fixed it for a special occasion_- as he said, "So, you're the famous 'Sherlock Holmes'. Heard a lot about you from Joanie here."

She blushed and elbowed Mark as she stuttered, "I didn't talk about you _that _much. I just said some things here and there..."

Mark laughed as he draped his arm around her and pulled her even closer.

"I think Joanie here has got a little crush."

Sherlock's gaze snapped to him, and then flickered to Joan. Her turned face was all he needed to look at to know. Joan didn't need to tell him.

He got mad –or maybe it was the jealous side of him taking over- and did something irrational.

Sherlock pulled Joan off of the couch, wrapped an arm tightly around her waist, and gave her a hot, passionate kiss. When they broke free, Mark looked uncomfortable and Joan was flustered. Sherlock was smug, as always.

"Watson's _crush_ is reciprocated."

Mark rubbed the back of his neck as he muttered, "I didn't know you were dating someone."

Sherlock smirked.

"... But! Still doesn't mean I can't take you out to dinner," he finished. Mark gave his most charming smile, which made Sherlock want to rip him in half.

Joan gazed at Sherlock, asking him a silent _'Are you okay with this?'_

He tightened his jaw, and huffed out a small _'whatever' _before storming upstairs.

She made a move to go up to Sherlock, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"He'll be fine," Mark said offhandedly, "let's just go."

After one final glance to the second floor, Joan followed Mark out of the front door.

o0o

Sherlock heard the door slam shut.

"She left," he stated to no one.

"_Of course_ she left, you bloody idiot. You gave her permission to," Sherlock retorted to himself.

He sat down on the bed and covered his face with his hands.

"Bloody _idiot_."

* * *

**A/N: Oh my gosh guys I am really sorry! This is so late...**


	11. Kiss Eleven

Kiss Eleven (Time: 11 am)

**A/N: Just saying, Mark Morstan is supposed to be the male version of Mary Morstan.**

**Hannoie: I'm sorry! Didn't mean to seem like I abandoned this story. I just got sick, had to make up homework, then got a concussion... So these days have been eventful for me.**

**Kitsunekit75: I'm not even sure what I was trying to do with Sherlock in chapter nine... XD I just used the adorable idea of him lending Joan his jacket, and the chapter went off to whatever then. I guess what he wanted was for him to do that sweet gesture of giving her his coat, and since it's Sherlock, he created this whole elaborate plan to do it.**

* * *

_'Brunch?' _ Sherlock thought bitterly as Mark suggested it. _'What kind of terrible excuse for more food is that?'_

Joan entwined her fingers with Sherlock's, and nodded.

She had tried to invite him along to other outings with Mark, but Sherlock refused them all. Then, when he was alone, he would realize what he had done and repeatedly call himself an idiot.

None of that mattered though, because he still never said yes.

But this time, Joan was _forcing_ him to go. It was more like a bribe; he would go so she didn't have to give him the silent treatment for a few days.

o0o

Brandi Perkins. he had light brown hair, wore an entirely new face that looked like it was made out of foundation, and was wearing clothes that probably should have been banned at the diner.

"Mark _did_ say this was going to be a double date..." Joan said, giving Sherlock a small shrug.

Joan slid into the inside of the left booth, Sherlock sitting right beside her. Mark and Brandi sat on the opposite side, Brandi on the outside.

Their orders were taken and an uncomfortable silence had fallen. Mark is the first to talk. To Joan. Sherlock was left fuming, while Brandi continuously stared at him.

Sherlock grasped Joan's hand, a blush slowly creeping onto her face. He smirked.

Sherlock's other palm lazily gripped the side of the table.

Brandi was trying –and failing- to strike up a conversation. Her hand slowly started to slide up to Sherlock's, and was barely touching it before Joan interrupted with a cough.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, giving Brandi the death glare Sherlock had received many times. "He's _my_ boyfriend."

Brandi stared back, wide eyed. She glanced at Joan, then at Mark. "But..." she sputtered, "this –this is a double date, isn't it?"

Sherlock's gaze went to Mark. He finally understood.

Joan abruptly stood up. She figured it out, too.

"What the _HELL_, Mark?!" Joan yelled, gaining the attention of some other diners.

Brandi was still confused. "Can any of you explain what is going on?"

"Well," Sherlock started, "Mark here-"

Joan cut in, "_Mark_ here was being a _fucking idiot_ and was trying to trick you into thinking I was dating him. But I'm NOT. I am dating Sherlock, and sadly he also dragged you into all of this. Sherlock and I both thought that you were Mark's date, hence my confusion and outrage."

The waitress deemed the moment Joan stopped explaining the _perfect _time to show up with their orders. She placed it down with a weary smile, giving a slight nudge to the hot coffee Sherlock ordered towards Brandi. Sherlock noticed and quickly suppressed his grin, for he deduced what was going to happen next.

He, of course, was right.

Brandi, feeling extremely embarrassed and used, grabbed the food item closest to her (the scalding hot coffee, black, two sugars). All of it went to waste, poured down Mark's front.

He jumped and cursed, trying to wipe off all the boiling coffee staining itself into his clothing.

Sherlock stifled a chuckle.

o0o

Joan and Sherlock stood outside the diner, feeling the aftershock of what had happened.

She pulled him down, kissing him tentatively, not knowing if the public display of affection –or any affection, to be honest- was appropriate seeing as they had never really _said_ they were a couple or not.

Sherlock sensed her uncertainty and pulled her closer, his lips moving along with hers. He wanted to express all the love for her and give her reassurance that this was what he wanted in one little kiss.

She pulled away, and stated, "You're mine." Joan's eyes stared into Sherlock's, brown masking her uncertainty. "Right?"

He smiled, and pressed his lips onto her forehead. She sighed in response, hugging him tightly.

"Of course, my dear Watson, always."


	12. Kiss Twelve

Kiss Twelve:

**A/N: This has spoilers for 2x01. Nothing about the case, but there are things about Mycroft. Also, I wouldn't advise skipping this chapter (or any chapter really) because they usually have small sprinkles of continuity everywhere. Little inside jokes throughout the story. Events that are probably going to be mentioned in later chapters. Just saying.**

**Also, time might be slightly off (and I will jump around quite a lot), for I can't remember the episode in explicit detail, nor do I know the exact time difference between New York and London. The events might be off to better fit my storyline, as I do not want to spoil the entire episode.**

* * *

Three weeks had past since the Mark Incident.

Twenty one hours since Joan had seen Sherlock.

o0o

(Three days before)

They arrived in London.

"For an old friend of mine at the Scotland Yard," Sherlock had said. "I'm just doing one last favor for him."

Joan was justifiably excited. She _was _visiting his former home.

o0o

By the time Joan and Sherlock had gotten off the flight, it was afternoon.

She had never been more tired. He, of course, was as energetic as ever, and dragged her along to wherever he went. Joan was unable to object, for she didn't even know where they would stay for the night.

o0o

Joan practically ran up the stairs, only being slowed by Sherlock, for he was the one with the keys. He rambled about his former flat, explaining how it was his "sanctum sanctorum".

She rolled her eyes.

"Does it have a bed? Because the only thing I care about right now is sleeping."

Sherlock leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear as he said, "_Only_ sleeping?"

Joan playfully elbowed him, her face burning. He smirked, opening the door to the flat.

She entered first. It was... different than what she expected.

Apparently, that's what Sherlock thought, too. He quickly left his things on the floor, and searched the other rooms of his now missing possessions.

"Can I help you?" a voice very unlike Sherlock's asked.

Joan turned, startled. Before she could answer, Sherlock shouted from the room, "Watson, our rest is going to have to wait. We need to locate- My god."

Sherlock was at the foot of the stairs, looking at the man that had appeared.

"My-CROFT. Hasn't been _that_ long, has it?"

"Um, would someone like to explain what's going on here?" Joan interrupted, glancing back and forth between them.

"Fatty, this is Watson. Watson, this is Fatty."

"Fatty? I hardly think that nickname applies anymore. Don't you think?"

"Lap-band."

"_Exercise_."

Sherlock gave a short, sarcastic laugh. "Exercise requires energy and ambition. You've never had either."

Mycroft turned, facing Joan. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Watson. I'm Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's older brother."

o0o

"You know, Mycroft wants to have dinner with me." Joan randomly stated, trying to strike up a conversation.

Sherlock glanced up, back down, then up again.

"He intends to bed you." She gave him a look of disbelief. "Retaliation for my relations with his fiancé."

Joan rolled her eyes. "I doubt he would do anything like that. You should come with me."

He paused, and said with a hint of a questioning tone, "You are attracted to him."

Joan almost choked on nothing. "You're kidding, right?" He remained silent. "Of course not!"

"... Makes a certain amount of sense. He is MY brother. Since I obviously have my mind occupied my other things, you would go for a cheap knock-off of the real thing, which is Mycroft in this case."

Before Joan could retort, her phone chimed, signaling an incoming text. She read the text, and, seeing that Sherlock went back to the case work, left.

He abruptly stopped when he couldn't hear her heels clicking against the tile floor.

Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands, messing up his hair in the process.

"Stop doing that," he muttered to himself.

o0o

Joan entered one of Mycroft's restaurants.

"Hello?" she called out.

"Ah, Joan!" he answered, holding two wine bottles. "Wasn't sure if you liked red or white, so I excavated a bottle of both."

Mycroft placed them on the table, and smiled.

"Please, sit."

Joan didn't move, and questioned, "You know that there's nothing going on here, right?"

"Why, of course," he said, "only a fool would overlook the glances you and Sherlock give each other. I could never interfere with that."

She blushed, and Mycroft continued, "No, no that's not why I wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you... I was lying... before. When I had said that exercise with the reason for my weight loss. The truth is..."

"You were sick." He looked up, surprised, and Joan explained, "I noticed the scars on your wrist. Bone marrow transplant?"

Mycroft slowly nodded, and added, "If I didn't know any better I would have said you were spending too much time with Sherlock. But, that's what I also wanted to talk about. Time with Sherlock. Spending time in that hospital made me think. How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"How does one become Sherlock's friend?"

(A/N: I won't spoil what happens between Mycroft and Sherlock)

o0o

Throughout the entire flight, Joan and Sherlock did not say one word to each other.

She repeatedly went to the bathroom, brushing against him in a way that made Sherlock want to grab Joan by the waist and kiss her until they both couldn't breathe.

But he didn't. Sherlock sat perfectly still and waited an agonizing seven hours.

o0o

Sherlock had been doing a lot of thinking during those seven hours. Most of them were incoherent, random things that flitted by. But, the thoughts that stuck with him the most were of Joan. And Mycroft. What did they do? What did they eat? _Did_ they eat? Did Joan... No. She would never. Would she?

He shook his head, but a small and growing part of his brain told him that Joan had indeed cheated on him. It was a stupid thought, but it was a thought that stuck with Sherlock the entire flight.

o0o

Joan sat in the taxi, becoming nervous. She glanced over at Sherlock.

She grabbed his hand to get his attention. His grip didn't seem as strong as hers.

All it took was one look for Sherlock to understand that Joan needed to tell him something once they got back into the brownstone.

o0o

They both sat facing each other at the kitchen table. Neither would talk first, for one wrong word could cause something that none wanted.

Joan spoke up first.

"Sherlock, I need to tell you something." She looked at him, and could immediately tell he wasn't listening.

"Sherlock. Sherlock!" She quickly got up, frustrated, and started to pace.

He lazily glanced towards her, finally giving her his attention.

"Finally," she muttered. "So, um, I have something important to tell you. I-"

"What did you do with Mycroft?" Sherlock blurted, not able to contain his burning curiosity anymore.

Joan's eyes went to Sherlock's, completely surprised by the question.

"W-what?" she stammered.

"Do I really need to reiterate my question, Watson?" Sherlock replied, hands clenching and unclenching, hidden at his sides.

Joan stood, arms crossed, and slightly glaring.

"No," she answered, "I heard you."

"Ah." He visibly relaxed. "Well then," Sherlock made a slight gesture. "Proceed."

"No."

He tensed, not wanting to portray how uneasy he really was.

"Why don't you trust me, Sherlock?"

There was a long pause before he whispered, "I can't."

She blinked, surprise and hurt crushing down on her.

"O-okay," Joan said, her voice slightly breaking. Sherlock looked up in alarm. He heard it.

"Wait, no, Watson I-"

That was the final straw. Joan finally broke, emotions she didn't even know she had overwhelming her.

"No _what_, Sherlock?! Why can't you trust me? You of all people should know by now that I would do _nothing_ to _ever_ hurt you. I can't believe you could ever think I cheated on you, _with your brother_! Can't you see how much I fucking love you?" All the energy seemed to drain out of her.

"Why... why don't you call me Joan?"

Angry tears were soon replaced with heartbroken sobs, and she sat down on the floor, head on her knees. She hated herself for showing such weakness, but Joan couldn't will herself to stop.

Two strong arms wrapped around her and soft, warm lips were pressed onto her head. She pushed it away.

Joan got up, wiping stray tears.

"I think... that I should leave."

Sherlock's face looked hurt. Joan was unable to look at him as she gathered her unpacked suitcase and stepped through the door.

She couldn't remember hailing a taxi, or even the address she gave the driver. All Joan could think of was Sherlock's face, and how broken he had looked.

o0o

Sherlock walked towards the door, long after Joan's taxi had left. He sat down, back pressed against it.

He felt numb. He never wanted so badly to use... _something_ to take away his unbearable pain.

But he didn't. Sherlock knew that would only keep away Joan longer, if not forever.

Sherlock sat there, and, for the first time in too long, cried. He thought about how Moriarty had ruined his idea of love, how if he just _kept his stupid mouth shu_t this wouldn't have happened, and most importantly, he thought about how broken Joan looked.

_'If I had just let her tell me what she wanted to tell me, she wouldn't have left. I wouldn't be so alone. Again.'_

o0o

Joan knocked on the door, trying to compose herself. The door opened.

"Holy- what happened?" She was about to answer when he put his hand up. "Sherlock, isn't it?"

Joan nodded, and asked if she could stay here for a while.

"Oh, yeah, of course." He replied, stepping aside and allowing her to get in.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I'm not even going to try and tell you guys an excuse for why this is so late. Just... don't kill me. Also, I just realized that this story has MORE THAN 100 FOLLOWS! This is so amazing for me, and I am so sorry that you had to stick around for my mini-hiatus... BUT. I am sure that the next chapter will be up waaaay sooner than this one was. **

**Also, I have a Tumblr if anyone cares. It's orange-random, and if I get around maybe ten followers then I might start posting previews to my upcoming stories/chapters. I mostly reblog superwholock, because there isn't enough Elementary on Tumblr. **


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